


The Choice You Make Is The Path We'll Take

by StoriesofmyLife



Series: The Choice You Make is The Path We'll Take [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-31
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-07-28 13:04:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7641448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StoriesofmyLife/pseuds/StoriesofmyLife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Half-Blood Prince, the infamous bathroom scene revisited. No Sectumsempra, just two boys trying to make the right choices.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Choice You Make Is The Path We'll Take

**Author's Note:**

> I found this, unfinished, from about two or three years ago and due to the Harry Potter weekend on ABC, I somehow got the urge to finish it. A possible sequel? I'm not sure. Bare in mid this is the first time ever writing for this ship, so please, be kind (:

The only sounds that could be heard in the second floor bathroom was the sound of a faucet dripping steadily in the sink and Draco’s heavy, panicked breathing. 

Staring at himself in the mirror, he hardly recognized the person that stared back. His silver grey eyes were lifeless, bloodshot and red rimmed from sleepless nights and the angry frustrated tears that he had shed moments before. Dark circles stood out against his paler than normal skin, his cheek slightly sunken in from his unhealthy weight loss, not having the stomach to keep anything down. 

He didn’t know this helpless and lost person. He didn’t know how to quell the fear that was raging underneath his skin, threatening to break free every day. He didn’t know how to deal with the complete and utter failure this mission was turning out to be. 

He didn’t know how he could help himself out of this.

The amount of desperation that threatened to consume him was overwhelming and desperate to be let out. He felt like a caged animal, frantic to escape and be free.

He couldn’t do this anymore. He didn’t _want_ to do this anymore.

Sliding down the wall, he rested his head in his hands and screamed, thankful that remembered to place a silencing charm around the door, just in case anyone happened to walk by. Tears burned his eyes once again, and he couldn’t prevent the sobs escaping his throat even if he wanted to. 

He had never felt so alone and so torn in his life before. He could feel his life spiraling out of his control, his grasp on it slipping and he wanted more than anything to take the past six months of his life back. 

He never wanted to bare the Dark Mark and become a pawn in the Dark Lords game. He never wanted to follow in either of his parents footsteps by becoming something he had grown to hate over the years. He never wanted to watch people die right before his very eyes, to see people being subjected to the Unforgivables just for the Dark Lord and his merry band of followers amusement. The sight and thought of it all made his stomach recoil and acid burn in his throat, as if wanting to purge his body from the evil and horrible sights he had been subjected to. 

But if he revolted, his parents and anyone else he loved or cared about would die right alongside of him, when they finally caught him. As much as he despised his parents—more so his father for making him do this—he could never let them suffer at the hands of that… _monster._ It would not be a quick and painless death, the Dark Lord shows no mercy and would make it as long, painful and slow as possible, to the point where he would be _begging_ for all of it to end. 

At this point, however, even death and torture would be a welcome embrace. No longer would he have to be subjected to watch people suffer for others amusement. He wouldn’t have to face the disappointment of his parents at his failures and he could finally be free of the blood that stained his hands and the stress and the worry and the complete nightmare that his life had become. 

He heard him before he saw him. 

Years of dealing with his father and more recently, the Death Eaters that now occupied the place he used to call home, taught him to be constantly on guard and aware of his surroundings. 

Then again, Potter failed to have a stealth bone in his body and his heavy and rushed footsteps in the corridor could be heard from a mile away by even the most unware deaf person. 

Out of reflex and self-preservation, he gripped his wand tightly in his right hand, his body tensing and curling in on itself. He could feel his pulse in his throat, his heart slamming against his rib cage and his breath quickened. The familiar sense of panic was crawling through his system, slowly overtaking every nerve ending in his body, threating to claw through his skin and eat him alive. 

His fight or flight was kicking in, his self-preservation was screaming at him to run or at least hide until Potter left. 

He ignored it all. 

Instead, he sat there, his body quivering and shaking with the amount of effort he put into not running away. 

And that’s how Potter found him, curled up and shaking in the middle of the girl’s second floor lavatory. His pale face tear-stained and his silver-grey eyes were blown wide with fear and anxiety.

_Weak_

_Pathetic_

He could feel Potter staring at him, watching him, observing him, debating on what spell to attack him with first. Draco wasn't sure if he could even be bothered to fight back.

“I know what you did to Katie.” Potter said, breaking the silence that had been stretching and coiling between them. His tone was cautious, but accusatory. And it set Draco’s teeth on edge. 

“You know nothing, Potter,” Draco said with a snort of dark amusement, shaking his head briefly, “you know _nothing.”_

“I know you cursed her, used an unforgivable, probably caught her off guard and gave her the necklace and told her to deliver it Dumbledore—“

_“You know nothing, Potter! Nothing!”_ Draco shouted, his chest tight, his vision blurry and suddenly he was up, standing on shaky legs with his wand drawn, “You have no idea, not one small inkling as to what’s happening, Potter, no idea” Draco whispered, his voice soft, but his words were dark, “what I’m capable of,” he added, voice tight and rising once more with the growing fear and rage, “so if you know what’s good for you, you’ll turn around and walk away. Stop following me, stop watching me and just leave me _alone.”_

Potter’s eyes widened a fraction and Draco could help but chuckle darkly, “You think I didn't notice you watching me? Following me around, whispering about me with your little friends?” Draco shook his head, a wry smile on his pale face, “You may be many things, Potter, but subtle is not one of them.”

Potter was silent, his green eyes appraising and suddenly thoughtful. Dracofelt exposed, vulnerable under his piercing gaze and he didn’t like it. 

“I know what you are,” Potter said softly, cautious once again, and Draco tensed. 

“I told you, Potter you know _nothing—“_

“I saw you,” Potter continued, cutting him off and Draco let him, too tired to fight it anymore, “That day, in Diagon Alley? You were with your mother, walking through streets, glancing over your shoulders, looking like two people who didn’t want to be seen.”

Draco turned his head, shutting his eyes against the flood of memories of that day, his fear and anger at having to follow in his parent’s footsteps, the pain of receiving his mark, the Dark Lord embracing him as if he was his own son, his fear at being so close to something so _dark._ The impossible task he knew he was given because of the Dark Lord’s anger towards his father and his treason. A sacrificial lamb for a cause he didn’t even believe in. 

“You headed down Knockturn Alley, and went into Borgin and Burkes,” Potter carried on, taking a few steps closer to a frozen Draco, who felt the shift and was watching him warily, “So I followed you, climb the roof of a nearby shop—“

“A bit much, don't you think Potter?” Draco said dryly, suddenly well aware how close their proximity was and he wasn't sure what he was more upset about, the fact that Potter was so close and he wasn't doing anything to stop it. Or that Potter was so close and he wasn't even the least bit bothered by it. 

_Huh_

_“—_ And I knew Voldemort was there,” Potter said, not the least bit annoyed by his interruption and either ignoring or not noticing Draco’s flinch at the name. With how close they were, Draco highly doubted it was the latter. Potter, while lacking subtly, made up for it with his knack for observing.

“I know, because my scar hurts whenever he’s around,” Potter answered his unasked question, increasing Draco’s annoyance, “and I saw him give you the Dark Mark.”

Draco was so caught up in his irritation with Harr— _Potter,_ his apparent mind-reading ability and his own lack of aggravation at Potter’s lack of personal space, that he failed to notice his left hand now in Potter’s possession, the sleeves of his white button down rolled up to his elbow, exposing the delicate skin of his wrist and the dark ink marring the other-wise blemish free pale flesh. 

“I don’t know why you did what you did to Katie,” Potter whispered, his voice soft, breath warm against Draco’s suddenly cold skin, “But I do know that this,” he continued, brushing his thumb across the mark, which was raised slightly from his skin, the ink painful and black, true signs of the Dark Lord’s growing anger and frustration. Draco shivered, but for reasons unknown to him, it had nothing to do with his previous thought, “is somehow connected to it.”

“You sure of that, are you?” Draco asked, somehow finding his voice. 

A pale pink blush spread across Har— _Potter’s_ cheeks and Draco couldn’t help but smirk slightly at the sight, “I won’t pretend to know you well, Draco, but I do know that you’d never intentionally do something to hurt someone. Belittle them with words, yes, but directly cause someone physical harm…” Harry shook his head, a small chuckle leaving his lips, “well, that was always more Crabbe or Goyle’s style than yours.”

Draco wasn’t sure how to feel about that revelation, deciding to store it away for later. Instead, he gazed silently at Harry for a moment, deciding that if he can start calling him by his first name, he could start doing the same, at least mentally, for now. His eyes flickered from the earnest green of his eyes, to the slope of his nose, the shape of his lips, the set of his jaw, down to the tanned hand that still held his wrist with gentlest of touches, marveling at the contrast of their skin and he couldn't help but wonder _why._

_Why_ was this boy, who not even twenty minutes ago, he could've sworn hated him with every fibre of his being, being so kind to him? Out of all the things that had happened to Draco so far this year, this had to be the strangest and most puzzling and Draco hated puzzles. He couldn't understand why Harry was being so… _gentle._ It was almost like—

“Why do you care, Harry?” Draco demanded, raising his eyes back to Harry’s, which were once again wide with what Draco assumed was shock at hearing his first name pass his lips. Draco wasn't sure he’d ever said his name without malicious intentions before. He hated to admit it, but it was kind of a refreshing change. 

“I know what it’s like,” Harry admitted softly, “to feel alone in a room full of people. To walk around with all of this… _anger_ and not knowing how to control it.

“But mostly,” he continued, his voice turning gentle, once again cautious, “I know what it’s like to bare a cross you never wanted to bare in the first place. Like the weight of the world rest on your shoulders and everyone is looking to you to succeed, no matter what consequences or costs.”

Draco stiffened, his walls raising at the reminder of how _wrong_ this whole this was. What was he doing? Letting himself be cornered by someone he thought of as his enemy, allowing him to see him in his moment of weakness, so open and vulnerable. 

_Weak_

_Pathetic_

Wrenching himself out Har— _Potter’s_ grasp, he shoved him out of the way, needing, _wanting_ to put some sort of distance between himself and something he’d denied himself for so long because it was _expected_ of him. If it was one thing Draco knew, it was the line between dark and light and he was no longer neutral. If he was being honest with himself, he never was a neutral party, he’d been toeing the line between light and dark since his birth and now he was on the dark side, the side his parents believed in and the side he was expected to follow. Ideals and values he was supposed to uphold. He couldn’t even be _friends_ with Potter, let alone entertaining any childish desires of _more,_ because he stood for everything he was supposed to fight against. Potter was the reason he was forced into the situation he was currently dealing with now, the reason his father was thrown into Azkaban and the reason his name was a joke when it once held prestige and honor. 

The lines were clear, Draco just wished his thoughts on the subject were.

“And what? Does that make us friends now? Suddenly we have something in common, something we can discuss over tea and biscuits?! Poor Saint Potter and his burden of saving the Wizarding world,” Draco spat harshly, “You haven't a clue, Potter, what I’m dealing with. You may have your theories, your stalker-ish tendencies and you may think that you have some form of understanding of me, but you don't _know, you don’t!”_

Potter’s eyes flashed, his emerald eyes hardening like stone and Draco felt a small thrill run up his spine at the sight. 

“You think you’re so mysterious, Malfoy?! I know you’ve got the Dark Mark, I just saw it with my own bloody eyes, I even touched the damned thing,” Potter shouted back, and Draco had to stop himself from flinching at tone of disgust in his voice, “I know you’re working for Voldemort, I know that he’s assigned you to kill Dumbledore—“

“And what?” Draco demanded, not bothering to hide his scorn, “You’re here to offer me help? Bring me to Dumbledore, swear myself to the light and help rid the world of disgusting low-life’s like me?” Draco laughed coldly, “Don’t you get it, Potter? No one can help me, not even Saint-Potter and his army of self-sacrificing solider’s.” 

Draco gave another sharp laugh, running his fingers through his mussed up hair, hoping Potter couldn't see how badly he was shaking. 

“Draco—“ Potter began, but Draco shook his head. 

“Don’t, Potter, it’s no use.” 

He could hear Harry take hesitant steps towards him, but he didn’t bother to back away. He was tired of running, tired of fighting and tired of this war, even though the worst was yet to come. 

“You can go to, Dumbledore, Draco,” Harry whispered, placing his fingers underneath Draco’s chin and lifting his head in order to see his eyes. Stubbornness and determination burned bright in his eyes and Draco’s lips twitched, hopelessly endeared, “he probably already knows, I suspect, nothing really gets passed that man, he can help you, protect you.”

Draco gave Harry a soft, self-pitying smile, “You don't think I haven't already thought of that?”

“Then why haven't you? He won’t turn you away, you might have to explain your half a little bit, but—“

Draco shook his head, “What about my parents, Harry? Do you know what You-Know-Who would do to them once he found out that I had traded sides? Why do you think he tasked me to kill Dumbledore in the first place?”

Draco could see the frustration and desperation growing in Harry’s eyes, “You have a choice, Draco, a choice to get out of this mess and help people, help us, help me,” he added softly, “your parents made their choices, they chose to follow Voldemort—“

“—Please don't say his name—” Draco pleaded, wincing. 

“—you didn’t,” Harry said, ignoring him, “you didn’t choose this, Draco, I know you didn’t.”

“And what makes you so sure I didn’t?” Draco said softly, carefully, “you don't know me that well, you said it so yourself.”

Harry gave a small nod of acknowledgement, but there was a soft look in his eyes, almost teasing, if Draco read it right, “I’m sure, because you wouldn't be in the girl’s lavatory, a shaking and crying mess if you did.”

Draco opened his lips to protest, but shut them when he realized, with slight reluctance, that Harry was right. 

“Why do you care, anyway? Really.” Draco countered, raising an eyebrow. 

“I told you, I know what it’s like to not have a choice, to carry the weight of something so much bigger than yourself and being expected to succeed.” Harry stopped, suddenly unsure and Draco gave him a small smile.

“There’s more, isn't there?” Draco asked, and Harry nodded sheepishly. 

“Maybe.”

“Are you going to tell me or am I expected to guess?” 

“Depends, are you going to Dumbledore?” Harry asked with a raised eyebrow. 

Draco deflated, “Harry—“

“Just think about it, please. He can help you.” Harry pleaded gently. 

Draco couldn't help but smile, “You’re a stubborn one, aren't you?”

Harry smiled sheepishly, not denying it.

Draco sighed heavily, “Alright, I-I’ll go,” he conceded and he couldn't help the small blush that heated his cheeks at Harry’s blinding smile, “but let me do it on my own terms, okay? I don’t need to hold my hand like some overgrown, bloody baby—“

His protest were silenced as a pair of soft lips met his, kissing him soundly. Calloused, tanned, warm hands cupped his cheeks and pulled him closer and Draco couldn't help but respond eagerly. 

It wasn't going to be easy, Draco knew, he still had to come to terms with the possibility of severing ties with his family and sacrificing everything he knew in order to have a life of his choosing. 

But if that meant getting something he’d coveted for so long but denied himself the pleasure of it, all because of something he’d never wanted in the first place, and getting to choose, to be free and actually save this world he loved so much from the hell that was bound to rain down upon it if You-Know-Who got his way. 

Well, he had a choice now, and this choice, right here, in his arms, was beyond worth it. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thoughts??


End file.
